Julian's world narrowed down to the point of contact.
He felt the Duke's lips brush up against his. The kiss was hesitant, a brush of a touch that carried the weight of the Duke's unspoken fears. It wasn't the demanding, forceful gesture Julian might have expected from a man who broke iron with his fists and led armies.
And it was unlike the kiss from that night as well, where it felt like the Duke would actually devour him.
Instead, it was gentle—a quiet question asked in the stillness of the room.
'Do you feel the same way I do?'
'Will you run from me if I show you my true feelings?'
'Does the real me scare you?'
These questions were ones that could only be felt through the contact of the lips. The questions the Duke could not say by mouth.
Julian's breath hitched, trapped in his throat.
